


Letting You [SCRAPPED]

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: (but hopefully not too slow), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, May/December Relationship, Rating May Change, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, don't judge me i'm working through some stuff here, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26388244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sorry, I don't really ship this ship that much anymore,andI'm watching DS9 now,andI'm also not as horribly depressed as I was anymore (After a self-harm relapse I was having intrusive thoughts and nightmares of cutting myself again, which was kind of the whole reason Iinitiallywanted to write this in the first place, so continuing would kind of feel inauthentic as there's no catharsis factor anymore). Additionally, I just didn't know where to take the plot after chapter 2, and put it kind of on the backburner. I'll publish the second chapter just so it can be here, but I can't continue this anymore. I dunno. I'm not really feeling this one after all, which is unfortunate but it also is what it is. I'mreallysorry to the people who enjoyed what little I posted but I just cannot anymore.----------Wesley's reputation, among other things, weighs on him more than he lets on. His go-to coping mechanism is unhealthy and self-destructive, but it's too difficult to stop now.Maybe Will could help him through it. Of course, that would require letting him see Wesley at his most vulnerable.----------TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPICTIONS OF AND REFERENCES TO SELF-HARM.
Relationships: Wesley Crusher/William Riker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPICTIONS OF AND REFERENCES TO SELF-HARM.
> 
> This fic depicts the Wesley Crusher/Will Riker ship, so if that's a NOTP or squick for you, this is your chance to nope out now.  
> \----------  
> I've been watching TNG lately and I kinda accidentally projected onto Wesley Crusher (just a little bit though, as a treat)  
> I wasn't expecting it to happen but at the same time I'm not all that surprised that it has so here we are sfgdhdshsd  
> Anyway, Wesley is 18 in this. As such, there's some incidental canon divergence since he's still on the Enterprise as an ensign instead of at Starfleet Academy as a cadet but shhhh don't worry about it.  
> All the dark stuff depicted here is me working through some shit that's been going on in my head lately. The Wesley/Riker ship stuff, on the other hand, is mainly just me playing with dolls. Dolls made of words instead of plastic, rags, paper, or anything else dolls can be made of, but dolls nonetheless.  
> \----------  
> Star Trek: The Next Generation and its characters do not belong to me.

Wesley lay in his bed, wide awake and staring absently at the ceiling. He had given up trying to force himself to sleep. Even with every light in the room turned off, his brain refused to do the same. Overthinking, overanalysing, and overwhelmed by a distinct and familiar sense of worthlessness and self-loathing. He blinked as he sank deeper into the empty, hopeless dread, feeling it wash over him. With it, his fingers instinctively twitched, his wrists starting to tingle.

He found the latter darkly amusing, in a way. Whenever he felt the urge to cut, he always envisioned slow, steady streams of crimson pulsing out from his upturned wrists. It would bleed and bloom all over, staining everything. But whenever he gave in, he knew better than to actually cut anywhere near there. It was too visible, too risky, too dangerous. Far too easy to lose control and… get more than he bargained for.

And _control_ was the whole point of this exercise.

Hurting himself was the only way he could relieve the pressure always building inside. Of course, it’d only be a matter of time before it would finally become too much, before he’d finally reach breaking point and collapse in on himself. Only a matter of time and then everyone would see him, how broken he really was. Until then, he had the scar tissue and the scabbed-over wounds on his arms, his torso and his thighs, all grotesquely accompanying each other in those places where no one would find them.

Sometimes he was strong enough to resist. Sometimes he could go for weeks at a time without even _looking_ at a razor blade. But he was never strong enough to quit altogether. Not when he often felt like a worthless nuisance riding on the coattails of his long-dead Starfleet officer father, and his mother, the flagship’s chief medical officer. Not when he carried the weight of his ‘local child genius’ reputation on his shoulders, even as a young adult, and all the resulting expectations that he didn’t always know how to live up to. Not when it had taken him years to barely even cope with the trauma from his father’s death. And definitely not when it was all he could do to stop his head from throbbing as if it were about to explode.

At least he could pretend nothing was wrong in front of other people, though. If any of the crewmembers he worked with _did_ notice anything amiss, they were keeping it to themselves. Even Counsellor Troi had yet to say anything to Dr. Crusher or pull Wesley himself aside, which led him to the conclusion that she hadn’t sensed anything from him either. Still, he couldn’t be too careful, so he tried to avoid her whenever he could.

Such was also the case with Commander Riker. Now _there_ was someone Wesley felt complicated about. It wasn’t much longer after he discovered he was more attracted to men than he was to women, that he also realised he’d harboured rather strong feelings for the Enterprise’s First Officer, or ‘Number One’ as Captain Picard called him—an appropriate nickname in Wesley’s eyes. It was just his luck that, of all the people to fall in love with onboard this vessel, not only did it have to be someone very much _not_ his own age (though Wesley always felt somewhat disconnected from his peers throughout his life anyway), not only did it have to be someone who had a reputation for sleeping with just about anything that moved, but it had to be _William T. Fucking Riker_ on top of all that.

He was one of the first of the Enterprise officers to warm up to Wesley. They started out as mentor and mentee, but over time, they became quite good (if unlikely) friends too. And while the chances of them being any more than that were extremely slim, they were still close in a platonic sense. So much so that, unfortunately, Will didn’t even need to be a half-Betazoid nor a ship’s counsellor to recognise whenever something was off about Wesley. He knew the ensign well enough on his own. Thus, it was difficult to avoid arousing suspicion not only because of that, but also because Riker seemed to possess a talent for detecting bullshit; if he ever caught _Wesley_ of all people in a lie, the last thing he would do is let it slide.

The tingle in his wrists escalated to a searing itch, the compulsion to bleed filling him from head to toe. He rose from his bed with a sigh and, as if on autopilot, opened the bottom drawer of his bedside table, retrieving his razor blade from its hiding spot in the back. He sauntered to the bathroom, putting the lights on a medium setting, and sat on the still-lidded toilet. Bringing the blade into focus, his breath quickened as he stared at it in his shivering hand. It glinted in the light, highlighting the smudged fingerprints from all the previous times he had given in.

He placed the blade down on the basin counter momentarily and rolled up the left-hand sleeve of his sweater, exposing his upper arm. He closed his eyes for just a few seconds before forcing them open to focus on the various sizes and shapes of the marks already present. He stared contemplatively, almost mesmerised. The oldest scar on this area of his body was a large ugly line of pale raised skin with jagged edges. It spanned from just above his inner elbow to his shoulder.

He remembered thinking about his father, about Captain Picard, about the anger and the pain and the wet blurriness in his eyes that he just wished would all go away. He remembered digging the blade deeper into his skin than he normally would have. He remembered his hand slipping, and so much blood. He had gone too far that day. He lost control, and that scar was a permanent reminder.

 _‘Not one of my finest moments,’_ he thought with a rueful smile. With a bite to his lip, he dragged the corner of the cool metal across his skin, inhaling a sharp, pained breath as it stung, soon beginning to bleed.

* * *

Having finished dressing his wounds, Wesley was in uniform, his new injuries hidden underneath along with the older ones. He was ready to report to the bridge for his first shift of the day, giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek as he walked out of their shared quarters and into the corridor. He was almost excited for his bridge duty since it meant that most of his time would be spent at the helm. Navigation was one of the few things he knew he was genuinely good at, without that nagging in the back of his mind that he was just fooling everyone around him, including himself.

Besides, working in the same space as Will was usually a plus as well.

In his haste, he attempted to beeline straight for the nearest turbolift. As he rounded a corner he narrowly avoided bumping into—

“Wes?”

Stopping in his tracks, he looked up at the owner of that voice, inwardly cursing himself for his inattentiveness.

And, hell, speak of the devil.

“Commander Riker,” Wesley greeted the taller man with a small nod, hoping he couldn’t hear the nerves in his voice. He tried to ignore the heat beginning to rise in his cheeks.

“Ensign Crusher,” the commander countered with an expression that Wesley wasn’t sure whether to categorise as a smile or an outright _smirk._ Knowing him, it could’ve been either. “You’ve got bridge duty first thing today, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” Will grinned. Wesley felt himself mirroring with a small smile of his own. “I’m headed that way myself, I’ll walk with you.”

Will wrapped his hand around Wesley’s upper arm and began to lead him. Under normal circumstances Wesley would have enjoyed the contact; instead he started to panic. It all happened too fast. He couldn’t move out of the way, nor could he completely suppress his reaction, in time. Even underneath clothing and bandages, the mildest pressure on such fresh wounds left his arm stinging as if he were cutting into it all over again.

When Wesley let out a pained groan, sharply inhaling, Will immediately loosened his grip and let go, turning around to face him again. His brows were furrowed with such concern that it broke Wesley’s heart a little.

 _‘Please,’_ he thought, trying his hardest not to tear up, _‘please don’t look at me like that. I wish I could be honest with you.’_

“You alright, Wes?”

“Oh, uh, of course, Commander,” he answered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, speaking slightly too fast as he went. “It’s just, uh, I was… running a rock-climbing program in the holodeck the other day. I lost my footing at one point, and fell straight to the floor.”

Riker squinted slightly. “And that’s all?”

Wesley swallowed. “Yes, sir, I’m fine. It’s… it’s still a bit tender there, that’s all.”

Will’s expression was hard to read. Wesley hoped he had not already seen right through him, but for all he knew he might have.

“As long as you’re okay, Wes.” he finally said, placing a gentle hand on Wesley’s shoulder. Wesley looked up at him and gave a silent nod as he tried his best not to outwardly express his relief.

After a brief moment Will removed his hand just as gently, placing it back at his side. Motioning for Wesley to follow him, they walked together through the corridor in silence. Riker strode forth with all the grace and confidence one would expect from any Starfleet officer, but especially from one bearing the title of First Officer. Wesley, on the other hand, could feel himself nervously fidgeting with the fingers on one of his hands. His eyes also couldn’t seem to decide whether they wanted to focus dead ahead, on the ground, or on Will next to him. Every five-to-ten seconds or so, he’d switch between those. As both men rounded the corner, they made their way to the turbolift at the end of the hall. Riker stepped aside so that Wesley could enter first, following soon after.

“Main Bridge,” Wesley commanded, turning around to face the turbolift doors as they closed. The computer beeped its acknowledgement and the lift began to ascend.

“Halt,” Riker countermanded with an edge to his voice.

The computer beeped again, this time stopping the lift in place.


	2. Chapter 2

Though simultaneously confused and anxious, Wesley put on his best poker face and stared at Riker in an attempt to figure him out. All he got in return was a steely gaze.

“A ‘rock-climbing accident in the holodeck’, huh?” Riker questioned, his expression unchanged. Wesley breathed somewhat shallowly but otherwise remained silent. His eyes darted from Riker’s face to somewhere vaguely ahead. His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn’t think. His wrists began to tingle again, though he was able to temporarily alleviate the discomfort by repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists. He soon found that, even if he  _ had _ known exactly what to say at that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to speak anyway. His brain simply would not have let him. Looking back at Will, all he could manage in response was a single nod.

Will, in turn, shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re smart, Wes, but lying isn’t one of your strong suits. Care to explain to me what’s really going on?”

Wesley sighed. “Sir—”

“You’re not in any trouble, Wes. I want to make that clear.” Wesley nodded; Riker responded in kind as he continued, stepping slightly forward. “I’m just worried, because an ensign under  _ my _ command—not to mention someone I consider a  _ friend— _ has somehow been injured and he won’t tell me the truth when I ask him what’s wrong.”

Wesley worried at his inner lip as he considered how to respond. Obviously, he couldn’t tell the complete truth. Will would have him relieved of duty in an instant. He’d be confined to quarters if he was ‘lucky’, and to sickbay if he wasn’t. Either way, his mother would be notified almost immediately—along with Counsellor Troi and eventually Captain Picard too, no doubt.

The potential ramifications of the senior staff finding out about him were bad enough, and knowing that Will would never look at him the same way was worse still. But the absolute last thing he wanted to do was open this can of worms on his own mother. First, losing her husband, then serving under the man who, however indirectly, was nevertheless still responsible for that very loss. To add on top of that, later discovering that her son was a lot more fucked up than she could have ever anticipated? That while she healed and tended to the sick and injured aboard the Enterprise, he’d been doing the exact opposite  _ to himself, _ right under her nose, for so long?

It would destroy her. Under no circumstances could he allow that to happen. Maybe if he kept this to himself, he could eventually find a way to stop it by himself. Even if he couldn’t, that didn’t matter. It was his baggage, his problems and his alone. He didn’t want to become the drowning man who dragged everyone else down with him.

But, at the same time, Will was right and Wesley knew it. Lying  _ wasn’t  _ one of his strong suits. At least, outright fabrications weren’t.

_ ‘My mistake before was panicking, and then trying to pull a story completely out of my ass because I wasn’t thinking clearly,’  _ he thought. _ ‘Maybe if I incorporate something Will knows is true this time, it’ll be more believable. I hope.’ _

“Will—can I call you Will right now?” When the man in question nodded, Wesley took it as a cue to continue. “Will, I am…  _ so _ sorry.” He sighed. “I never meant to worry you. It’s just that… well, the truth is kind of embarrassing, and sad, and pathetic.” He let out a small, nervous chuckle.

“Somehow I doubt that, Wes,” Will countered as he smiled one of those gentle, disarming sort of smiles. The kind that always filled Wesley with warmth, and maybe even hope, upon seeing it. “Come on, try me. I promise I won’t judge.”

“Okay, well, you know how I have that arrangement with Data?”

Will nodded knowingly. “Right, the cat-sitting thing. You’ve mentioned it… maybe once or twice. I do remember you telling me Data chose you specifically because you’re one of the few people Spot doesn’t attack on sight.”

_ ‘Here we go.’ _

“Yeah, about that…”

“Oh, wait, Wes, don’t tell me,” Will grinned, now seemingly amused. He pointed at the area of Wesley’s upper arm where he had tried to grab him earlier.  _ “Spot?” _

_ ‘He seems to believe me. That’s a good sign.’ _

“Hey, you promised not to judge!” Wesley pouted, feigning outrage.

“I’m not! I just wasn’t expecting that. What did you do to set her off?”

Despite his discomfort with the deception, Wesley allowed himself a small giggle. “Nothing, it wasn’t like that. We were just… you know, play-fighting. Sharp claws, fast feline reflexes, et cetera. She still loves me. I think.”

“You feed her fairly often. For some cats, that’s all it takes,” Will placed his hand gently onto Wesley’s shoulder. “She definitely loves you.”

_ ‘I love  _ you,  _ Will…’ _

Will returned his arm to his side with a small shrug. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the beeping of his combadge.

“Picard to Commander Riker.”

“Riker here.” He suddenly broke eye contact with Wesley as if he’d only  _ just _ reminded himself that they were still in a turbolift that was supposed to be on its way to the main bridge.

“Number One, report to my ready room as soon as possible. There are urgent matters we need to discuss.”

“On my way. Riker out,” he tapped his combadge again to end his communication with the captain. “Anyway—Computer, resume,” the computer beeped in response, the lift beginning to ascend once more. Will turned his attention back to Wesley. “Anyway, Wes, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Cats like to play rough sometimes. Believe me, I get it.”

Wesley nodded wordlessly. After a few short moments of silence, the turbolift doors opened to show the bridge. Will leaned in almost unexpectedly close.

“I’m just…  _ glad _ you’re alright,” he added, softly patting Wesley on the back as he stepped out of the lift and directly towards the ready room.

As far as Wesley was concerned, that meant he had successfully managed to get Riker off his back. He let out a deep, relieved breath, stepping out of the lift himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to continue this one after this chapter, I'm really sorry (See the fic summary for more details).
> 
> However, if anyone ever wanted to pick this up and run with it themselves for any reason, that is more than okay with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek: The Next Generation and its characters do not belong to me.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
